


Fool For Lesser Things

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barista Bitty, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mugging, Student Bitty, chubby jack, coffee shop AU, discussions of virginity, mentions of past suicidal ideation, mild violence, nhl jack, realistic sex, trans Alicia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It starts like this...Eric Bittle witnesses an attempted mugging across the street from his cafe.  He has no idea what events will be set into motion as he races over to see if he can help.





	Fool For Lesser Things

**Author's Note:**

> Haha okay so this was supposed to be like a stream of consciousness drabble and suddenly it's 10k words long.
> 
> Please take caution, there's disussions of past suicidal ideation in this--nothing in explicit detail, canon-typical anxiety, and mentions of past homophobia.
> 
> Otherwise this is your typcial coffee shop, Barista!Bitty/NHL!Jack AU. Because I am trash for that trope and I don't care who knows it.

I don't care what consequence it brings  
I have been a fool for lesser things  
I want you so bad  
I think you ought to know that  
I intend to hold you for  
The longest time  
-Billy Joel

***

It starts like this.

Eric Bittle is a barista in a small coffee shop in Providence. It’s not his ideal place, but after panicking on the ice, taking a bad check and suffering a concussion, and his school work falling so far behind he can’t catch up, he loses his scholarship to Samwell. His parents can’t afford tuition there, but they come up with a compromise. He finishes his second year at the Providence Community College, gets residency in Rhode Island, and they pay whatever grants can’t cover when he transfers to the University there.

It isn’t ideal.

His parents want him to just come home. Bitty wants to stay with his friends, with his old team, on a campus known for being pro LGBT+ because it means that although he hasn’t stopped being afraid, he’s less afraid. Because Eric Bittle has spent far too many years being afraid.

But it’s the best he can get.

His friends swear not to abandon him, the café he works for accommodates his hours. His head feels better, he does alright in his second year. He’s accepted to the University. He gets to live off campus, and his mother even promises him her old car when he graduates.

All in all, it could be worse.

He’s twenty, he’s never had a boyfriend, but he has friends and he’s less lonely, and Providence is a really gorgeous place to live, so it’s hard to complain.

And that’s what led to Bitty standing at the window next to his co-worker James, watching across the street as a man—who Bitty sees every day going on a jog—being mugged. Bitty’s on with emergency services in a nano-second. James, who is kind of a dick, is getting the whole thing on Snapchat as a panicked Bitty sort of shouts words at the dispatcher while they watch the whole thing go down.

And the guy across the street getting mugged takes two hits to the face with what looks like a small, wooden block. One to the nose, and Bitty sees blood and goes a little woozy. The guy stumbles, takes another hit to the cheek before he manages to knock the guy out cold with three solid punches.

The jogger slumps to the ground, and Bitty abandons the emergency call to race across the street, his knees skinning on the pavement as he goes down too hard, too fast. But he’s got the guy by the shoulders as the guy tries to staunch the flow of blood from his nose.

“Police are on the way,” Bitty says. “Are you…well lordy that’s a stupid question. You’re not okay but…can I do something. Do you think you’re concussed? I have first aid back at the shop and I can…”

The man, for seemingly lack of something better to do, claps his hand over Bitty’s mouth and sighs. When he speaks, it’s thick and nasal and there’s an accent there somewhere. “I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion. Thank you.”

Bitty knows at this point he should either walk away, or maybe get the poor man a wet towel or something, but he stays there, even after the guy releases his mouth. He knows better than to babble, even if it’s his first instinct—filling uncomfortable silences is like an annoying super power of his. But he just shuffles over and hangs out for the five minutes and nine seconds it takes for the police to arrive.

It’s a flurry of activity after that. The police question witnesses on the street, then Bitty, then James who gets a thorough telling-off for putting the attack on snapchat, even though it’s a decent piece of evidence.

By the time the ambulance arrives, the mugger is coming to, but he’s in far worse condition, so he’s arrested, but brought to the hospital. The jogger is given an ice pack and instructions to see his GP to set his nose if it needs it, possibly some x-rays. But Bitty watches as the man waves off hospital transport.

He expects it to be over then.

Only the man comes inside and makes eye-contact with Bitty who scrambles for coffee and something from the bakery counter. Cherry turnovers. They’re still warm-ish, and he waves at James to mind the front as he comes round the counter, and makes a slow trek to the man’s table.

He sets the plate down, then the coffee and in a voice he hopes doesn’t sound shaky or scared, he says, “You seem like a black coffee kind of guy.”

The man laughs, and it’s muffled from the busted nose which is already starting to bruise. It’ll be a sunset of colour on his face, and probably a couple of shiners at the very least. The cheek that was hit is already purple, not as swollen as before. And at least all the blood is gone.

“Thanks. I don’t think I could taste anything fancier right now anyway.”

At that, Bitty winces, hesitates, then sits down. “Are you okay?”

“You mean this?” He waves his hand at his face, then shrugs, takes a sip of the coffee and says, “I’ve had a lot worse. I…I don’t think I’ve ever been mugged.”

“Attempted,” Bitty corrects, then blushes and stammers, “I…I mean. Well. You took him down like…holy shit that was kind of amazing. Like superhero kind of moves.” He swallows. “Are you?”

The man stares, his eyes red-rimmed but so blue Bitty thinks they could be made of ice. Then he laughs softly. “Like a vigilante? Euh…no. I just have well-trained reflexes.” His eyes flicker down to the cherry turnover, then he winces because it probably hurts to move. “I don’t think I can eat that right now.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. “Oh. I didn’t…think. I’m sorry.”

“Can I take it?” he asks, and Bitty blushes even though it’s a simple request. “Let me just…” And okay he’s a disaster because even beat to hell the man is attractive enough to make Bitty swoon, but he manages to find a pastry box and wrap it up tight, and hand it off. “It’s cherry,” he says a little lamely, and shrugs as the man takes the box.

“You made it?”

Bitty nods. “I made it.”

The man’s eyes flicker to Bitty’s name badge. “Eric,” he says.

Bitty can’t help a wince because he hasn’t been called that in years apart from maybe bill collectors on the phone. But the name brings up memories of southern boys drawling, “Eeericccc,” at him before he’s shoved into lockers, or utility closets. Or worse. “Everyone calls me Bitty,” he manages.

The man smiles. “Bitty. I’m Jack.” Then he stands and offers a hand. “Thank you for helping me.”

Bitty takes Jack’s hand and blushes because it’s way bigger than his own, and weirdly soft but callused, and so warm and he never wants to let go. “It was the least I could do. Maybe you can…stop in again sometime?”

Jack’s lips part in a soft smile that also probably hurts, but he keeps Bitty’s gaze all the same. “When I can enjoy flavour again, eh?”

Bitty laughs, then steps back with so much reluctance it hurts, and he watches Jack walk out the door.

The moment it swings shut, and Jack’s form has disappeared from view, James rushes up to him and elbows him hard in the ribs. “Holy fucking shit. Jack Zimmermann.”

And that’s how Bitty learnt the Captain of the Providence Falconers—rich, famous, NHL super star, nearly got mugged right in front of his very own café.

*** 

It continues like this…

Two weeks have gone by, and although Bitty doesn’t expect to see Jack again—because who wants to run the route that almost got you mugged—he’s disappointed by it. Mostly because he knows who Jack is now. And not that Bitty isn’t awed by the fact that Jack is an amazing hockey player, but also because Jack is the son of Alicia Zimmermann.

Alicia, who was his idol. Alicia, the star of his favourite TV show which was just cancelled—he’ll never be over it. Alicia, who is currently his phone background.

She was one of the first openly transgender models, who got into acting, who charmed the un-charmable Bad Bob Zimmermann. Married him, raised Jack, was an outspoken advocate for mental health for teens and athletes.

Alicia Zimmermann had been his everything for a long time, and Bitty kind of felt like a creepy superfan, but also he couldn’t get over that Jack was her son, and that Jack had smiled at him, and made him feel…all warm inside.

It was a bit…complicated.

But by that Thursday, which seemed to be terrible days no matter what was happening, Bitty had given up hope Jack was ever coming back. And he was busy crimping more cherry turnovers, and lamenting he hadn’t at least asked for like a twitter or snapchat when Jack had come in, when Lucy elbowed him and said, “Your boy is here.”

Bitty didn’t know what the hell that meant since he had exactly zero boys to speak of—his dating history pathetic and small and horrifying. But when he turns and looks at the counter and sees Jack there—still a little bruised, but better and smiling a little sheepishly, he nearly drops his tray all over the floor.

“Lord spare me my own self,” he mutters, and holds up a finger, then shoves the turnovers into the oven, sets the timer, wipes his hands on his apron, and approaches. “Well, if it isn’t our very own Jack. How are you?”

Jack’s cheeks are a little pink, and Bitty cannot even imagine it’s an actual blush. “I’m getting there. Fractured cheekbone, but everything else was alright. Apart from the bruising.” He waves at his eyes which are still slightly blackened. But now that Bitty knows about the hockey, Jack saying he’s had worse makes a lot of sense.

“Well, Mr Zimmermann, if anyone can pull off the beaten in the face look, it’s you.”

Jack’s face falls and before Bitty can panic he says, “Ah. So you know. Who I am, I mean.”

Bitty glances at his feet. “Ah well uh. Yeah? James—the guy who took the stupid video—sorry about that, by the way, he’s an ass—he told me who you were. Is that…is it weird now?”

Jack’s face softens and he shakes his head. “No. You helped save my life before you knew it was me, so I can assume you’re a pretty decent guy.”

Bitty laughs, shaking his head. “Okay but…let’s be realistic here, Jack. You saved your own life. The most I did was yell incoherently at the dispatcher who, by some miracle, managed to get the police and ambulance here in time. You’re the one who knocked the guy out.”

Jack rubs the back of his neck, then says, “Can you sit?”

Bitty almost ascends, but manages to keep his feet on this mortal plane long enough to offer pastries and coffee. Jack accepts, “Nothing too sugary,” so Bitty makes a couple of lattes, light on the syrup for Jack, and brings over some of his breakfast muffins.

“They’re high in protein,” Bitty insists, and he watches as Jack tentatively takes a nibble off the side, then groans and takes a bigger bite. “Yeah?”

Jack nods. “Amazing,” he says thickly through pastry. “I shouldn’t know these exist. Now I’ll be in here all the time.”

“That isn’t exactly incentive for me not to make them, Mr Zimmermann,” Bitty chirps, then kicks at Jack under the table like they’re old friends who’ve known each other years. And Jack just laughs and kicks back and makes it not weird which in turn, is so weird. “I’m really glad you’re okay, though. We didn’t see you for a while, and I was getting a little worried you were scared off.”

“I was on light duty,” Jack says, sounding almost apologetic. “Then we had a roadie. This time of year is always intense.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Bitty says, only slightly wistful because he misses hockey and he misses his team, but it’s been long enough that it doesn’t sting as much. When he catches Jack’s confused look, he blushes again and scrambles to explain. “Hah um. So I was on my University hockey team. Samwell. But um. Well. I kind of had this issue with checking…”

“Issue?” Jack asks.

Bitty’s blush gets deeper and he swears he might actually catch fire. “Lordy, this is so embarrassing saying this to an NHL player. But. So.” He clears his throat. “I had this thing happen, when I was younger. And I kind of have a hard time taking physical contact. I didn’t play much, but we were down three guys when we played Yale, and the D-man came right for me. Ended up getting a concussion. It was mild, but I had a hard time with concentration after that and um. Well, kind of lost my scholarship when I couldn’t pull out of it, and I had to move. My parents couldn’t really afford Samwell’s tuition without the help.”

Jack looks a little crestfallen, and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Bitty waves him off. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, it’s pretty terrible. But I moved here and…” he gestures between the two of them. “I mean, I can’t say I’m sad about that now.”

Jack blushes this time, and there’s no way Bitty can write that off as anything else. Especially the way Jack smiles and ducks his head. “I suppose so.”

Bitty toys with the rim of his mug. “So…thanks for letting me know everything’s cool.”

Jack breathes out a, “Yeah,” then goes on to talk a little bit about their games, and how he’d been over to his co-captain’s house the other day to babysit because he lost a bet, and how he has no idea how his parents managed one—and how Marty can possibly manage three. Bitty bites his tongue instead of asking about Alicia because he’s not brave enough yet.

Nor does he ask for a phone number.

Jack seems just as frightened, so they leave it with a one-armed side hug and then Jack leaves and Bitty feels both elated and a little dejected, and wondering if he will see Jack again.

*** 

He does.

Two days later he’s pulling mini cherry pies off a baking tray and into the display counter when Jack steps in. He’s sweaty and his hair’s a mess, and he’s in a shirt so tight it should be illegal. His calves are bulging in his running leggings, and Bitty’s mouth goes so dry it’s a wonder he can manage the, “Hey Jack,” when Jack steps up to the counter.

“Those look delicious.”

“Cherry,” Bitty says.

Jack laughs. “Yeah. That’s what the sign says.” When Bitty flushes so hard he gets a little dizzy, Jack chuckles again. “When I finally got to taste that cherry turnover, I almost cried. It was very good.”

For that, Bitty bags up a mini-pie in spite of Jack’s protest. Then he makes him a smoothie he made up, “PB and J,” he says, and for whatever reason he doesn’t understand yet, Jack blushes and can’t resist.

It’s peanut butter with a scoop of his homemade strawberry jam, frozen strawberries, and banana, soya milk, and chia seeds. Bitty hands it over and eagerly watches him take a drink, and then feels like he could fly when Jack’s eyes widen, and his cheeks pink, and he whispers, “That is so good.”

Bitty laughs. “We’ll call it the Jack Zimmermann special. You like PB and J?”

“It’s…a game-time routine for me, having one,” Jack says very softly like it means something.

The next day, when Jack comes in, he sees it written in chalk on the board and he lets Bitty take a picture of him by it for the café twitter.

All of that becomes routine. If Jack is in town, he visits, if he’s on a roadie, Bitty watches the games and tweets encouraging quotes which Jack’s twitter account either likes or re-tweets. Bitty isn’t sure if Jack runs it or not. He expects not—at least not all the time—because he never gets private messages. But the attention is nice anyway.

Bye week comes in like a hurricane. Literally.

Jack had mentioned to Bitty that although he’s visiting his parents for two of the days, he has time off. That normally he has a holiday, but he’s thinking of staying in and relaxing, and Bitty thinks maybe he’s hinting round spending time with him outside of their usual coffee meet-ups—which isn’t really anything at all since Bitty’s working during all of them.

But their relationship feels like it’s at a crossroads.

And it happens like this…

It’s pouring rain. It’s been pouring rain, and obscene, freezing winds coming off the sea, and the café hasn’t really had any customers in days because no one wants to brave a torrential downpour for a cup of coffee. Bitty’s taken to hiding dry clothes in the back room because the trip from the bus to the side entrance has him soaking wet and shivering until he dries off near the ovens.

Bitty knows Jack is in town. They’ve exchanged occasional texts, and Jack’s latest just says, **So this weather, eh?**

And it shouldn’t be endearing, but it is, and Bitty’s certain Jack isn’t going to bother with his usual routine, only he doesn’t trust Jack not to be ridiculous about the weather and his jogging routine. So he gets some cups ready for tea, and he waits by the door.

And sure enough, almost exactly on time, he sees bright yellow trainers hitting wet pavement through the foggy downpour.

Bitty steps outside with his hands out and manages to get a hold of Jack’s sopping t-shirt, yanking him inside. Now they’re both soaked, though Jack looks like he’s gone for a five hour swim the way he’s dripping and shivering, and Bitty just huffs and points to a chair, then hurries off.

He returns with a few towels and a dry hoodie which might—barely—fit Jack. It was something he stole back from Holster and the haus just before he left. Jack eyes him, says nothing, but strips his t-shirt off and Bitty has to force himself to look away.

And it isn’t like Jack’s one of those guys with a ridiculous body. Not like those sculpted from marble types. Jack’s on the bigger side, broad shoulders, round belly peppered with thick black hair. He’s got curvy love-handles just above the waistband of his running shorts, and Bitty finds himself wishing he could dig his fingers into the soft skin and taste the inside of his mouth.

The truth is, Bitty just likes Jack. Everything about him gets his head spinning and his tongue tripping over itself to sound either sweet or clever—often falling short enough for Jack to chirp him. But it’s become their routine, even if he wants more.

He looks away, even if Jack looks completely unbothered, and he waits until he can hear the shuffling of hoodie over Jack’s head. He can’t help with the shorts, but Jack at least looks warmer and a little chagrined as Bitty puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“In this weather? Really, Mr Zimmermann? You tryin’ to catch your death out there?”

“You know that’s not how it works,” Jack mutters.

Bitty huffs and starts hot water going. “Listen. Cold weather can compromise your immune system, making you more vulnerable to colds and flus so don’t you argue with me about bein’ silly in weather like this.”

Jack is all grins as Bitty comes back with the tea, and when Bitty raises a brow at him, Jack shrugs. “Your accent gets really thick when you’re scolding me.”

“And yours gets really thick after you been with your parents,” Bitty counters, then blushes because he realises he’s giving himself away so much.

Then again, so is Jack.

“Do you want something to eat while you defrost?” Bitty eventually asks.

Jack chuckles. “Not now. But I was thinking…maybe tonight? For dinner? I’m actually an alright cook.”

And Bitty doesn’t know where the courage comes from, because the only dates he’s ever had was during his Freshman year, and those due only to the matchmaking habits of his former teammates. But he manages to say, “Is it a date?”

And then Jack laughs again and says, “I was hoping. But if you prefer just friends…”

It’s all Bitty can do to keep from jumping on Jack. He clutches his tea, and nods and says, “Okay. I…yes. Okay.”

Jack’s grin’s impossibly wider and he’s blushing a little more and he mutters, “I’ll pick you up then.”

“I’ll make a pie,” Bitty says, like it’s a retort.

Jack’s smile softens. “Cherry?”

It’s their thing now. Peanut butter and jam smoothies and cherry pie. Bitty feels like they’ve been on a thousand dates. He feels like they’ve known each other a thousand lifetimes. Like maybe they’ve always known each other, in any universe.

He says, “Of course,” because of course, and Jack just chuckles again, and shakes his head, and hooks his ankle round Bitty’s under the table.

*** 

Jack arrives at the café just as the rain eases to a gentle mist. He’s got a small car which he pulls up to the mouth of the alley, and Bitty darts from the door, into the passenger side, giggling as he shivers and shakes his head to dislodge the few drops clinging to his hair.

Jack smiles at him, soft round the edges and warm, and Bitty feels heat rushing through his body that has nothing to do with the blasting air from the vents. “I thought we’d pick a few things up and cook together,” he says, then he takes Bitty’s hand, effectively muting any response Bitty might have had.

They head to Wholefoods.

It’s pretty much Bitty’s dream-date. The sort of dream-date he’d be too embarrassed to say aloud to any of his friends, and yet here they are browsing produce like an old married couple. Jack hip-checks him, and chirps him for how thorough he is in inspecting the lettuce for the salad they’re going to make, then Bitty chirps Jack because he won’t buy the frozen fish even though, “It’s the same fish as what the butcher has, Jack. I swear it is.”

They pick up some bread from the bakery, then check out, and Bitty tries not to cringe at the cost because there’s a reason he doesn’t shop at Wholefoods on his own. But Jack doesn’t bat an eye—of course he doesn’t, he’s rich on his own merits, and rich from his parents. It should make Bitty a little salty, but really he thinks Jack is a good enough person that in spite of the privilege he’s got, he probably tries to use it well.

They’re back in the car after, and before they get to Jack’s condo, the sky opens up again, and traffic comes to a stand-still. They’re warm though, and dry, and Bitty sneaks a look over at Jack whose openly staring with intense eyes.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks, a little self-conscious.

“No,” Jack says slowly. “But I can fix that for you, if you like.”

Bitty blinks, then giggles and pushes at Jack because, “Oh my word, that was so bad!” But then suddenly their gazes connect, like they’ve suddenly been sucked into some rom-com universe, and then over the console, they’re kissing.

It’s the first kiss Bitty’s had in years. And it might just be the best. It’s probably the most chaste—but it doesn’t taste of alcohol or weed, and there’s no thumping party music in the background, and when Jack pulls away, he pushes his forehead against Bitty’s instead of puking on his shoes.

So really, it’s a win for Bitty when it comes to his history of kissing.

“Was that okay?” Jack whispers. “I didn’t ask.”

“It was more than okay,” Bitty whispers back.

They’re startled away from each other by an angry honk from the car behind them who was apparently not kissing, and paying attention to the traffic now moving. Jack’s face heats up, and he laughs and mutters, “Sorry,” in a very Canadian way which has Bitty giggling and chirping until they pull into his parking garage and carry the bags upstairs.

Jack’s condo is very…him. Sparsely decorated, but warm furniture and colours. The windows are wide, and from the third floor you can see most of Providence. Bitty thinks the view will be better without all the rain and fog, and he hopes he gets to see it one day.

The kitchen is so clean it’s almost sterile, and he starts to chirp Jack about never using it until he confesses, “I have a cleaning service,” which makes Bitty roll his eyes.

“Spoilt,” he mutters.

But then Jack’s crowding Bitty against the fridge for their second kiss. His hands are huge, and so warm, and cupping Bitty’s face like Bitty is the most precious thing Jack has ever held. Their gazes are locked, so intense Bitty can’t breathe. Then their mouths are together, and doing a soft dance of push-pull, with swiping tongue velvet slick and so hot that Bitty feels a little off-kilter.

When they break apart, Jack’s breathing is heavy, like he’s gone on a jog, and he’s got one knee slotted between Bitty’s thighs.

“Can we,” Bitty murmurs. “Slow? Because um…” And he doesn’t really want to say just yet that he’s basically a virgin because he doesn’t really count that schwasted rugby asshole cupping him through his jeans at the party. He wasn’t even hard then, and the guy had been terrible.

And that was the closest thing to a handjob Bitty’s ever gotten, and definitely the only time someone else had come anywhere near Bitty’s dick.

He holds his breath, because maybe Jack will be annoyed. Maybe Jack wanted more and then will want to cut the date short. But Jack merely smiles, and he mouths kisses along Bitty’s jaw, and breathes him in, then steps back and says, “I like you a lot.”

Bitty’s in a literal tizzy as Jack starts to cook like he didn’t just upend Bitty’s entire world.

Luckily Bitty recovers not long after, and they prepare the fish, and the rice, and some salad. They take plates to the sofa with glasses of juice because Jack doesn’t drink, and Jack puts on some music which Bitty doesn’t recognise. It’s soft, the words aren’t in English. It’s a little country, a little jazzy, and he wants to ask but he’s too captivated by the way Jack’s thigh is pressed against his own, and how as soon as they put their plates down there might be more kissing and…

And…

Other things.

Pie comes first, though.

They share a plate. Bitty heats it up in the microwave—hates himself a little for it, but he doesn’t want to delay what’s coming after the pie. They don’t share a fork because they’re not that ridiculous—yet. But Jack does reach over and thumb some of the cherry filling from the corner of Bitty’s mouth, and when he licks it away, Bitty sucks in his breath which makes Jack’s pupils dilate until his irises are nothing more than a faint, icy blue ring.

Bitty wants to jump him right then and there—if only he knew what the fuck he was doing.

Instead they kiss a little more, and Bitty confesses, “I’m not really experienced, and I’d like to go slow.”

Jack has Bitty on his lap, sideways, Bitty’s back against the arm of the sofa, and he smiles. “Anything you want,” he mutters, and shit, he sounds like he means it, which makes Bitty kiss him a little longer.

Eventually they shuffle down so they’re snuggling against the plush cushions. Jack is behind Bitty, snuggling him the way Bitty snuggles Bun, and he’s got his nose against the side of Bitty’s neck.

“I don’t date a lot, and I tend to be all or nothing,” Jack confesses. “So if you want…if it’s okay with you, I’d like to be exclusive.”

Bitty brings Jack’s hand up, to kiss the backs of his knuckles and he hums his assent. “Yes. I want nothing more. It’s just…you should um…know I’m not…I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Jack asks.

Bitty huffs a laugh. “I mean, if you wanna count Jess-Marie in sixth grade who held my hand, then dumped me and went necking with Robbie Dunne the very next day, then sure.”

Jack huffs a laugh right into Bitty’s neck. “Who says necking anymore, Bits?”

“Well, I do,” Bitty says, with a pleased blush at the amendment of his nickname that’s just for Jack, and god he loves it. “Anyway, I just mean I’m gay. But bein’ gay where I grew up was impossible, and I hadn’t really learnt to get over all that by the time I went to Samwell so…I didn’t get a chance to explore…everything I wanted to explore.”

“Okay,” Jack whispers.

“I’m a virgin,” he blurts.

He doesn’t expect another quiet chuckle, but that’s what he gets as Jack splays a hand across Bitty’s lower belly. “Okay,” he says again. “Your pace, Bits. I’m not in a rush. I have you now. There’s nowhere to go but forward. Together.”

And lord if that isn’t the sweetest most romantic thing Bitty has ever heard. He closes his eyes and basks in it for a while.

“You know my mom went to Samwell,” Jack says sometime later. They’re still wrapped up in each other, only the TV is on now, though neither of them are paying it much attention.

At the mention of Alicia, Bitty flushes again and hides his face. “Yeah. I know. I’m…” He hesitates. “I don’t really want to say.”

Jack stiffens, and it’s not what Bitty expected, but then it occurs to him that Jack has probably heard the worst things in the world about his mother and he quickly turns so he can look Jack in the face when he explains.

“I just mean to say that I’ve been a huge fan of hers for a long time and well…I didn’t want that to be weird. Because she’s your momma.”

Jack relaxes a fraction, but he still looks wary and maybe even a little tired. “She’s pretty great.”

“She’s more than,” he blurts, and the whole story is just bubbling up and he wants to stop it, but he’s having a hard time because he wants to make it better, and he wants Jack to understand that Alicia was important to him and he’d fight anyone who ever said a bad word about her. Hell, he has. Online, of course, but still. “I um…lord I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a superfan and well, I am, but can we remember I liked you way before I knew Alicia Zimmermann was your mom?”

Jack still looks tense, and a little more confused now, but he nods. “It’s okay.”

“I um. I just.” He swallows. “In Georgia, things were real bad for me. I kinda understood, in an abstract way, that I’d get out someday. That I wouldn’t always be gettin’ beat up and locked in closets, but I couldn’t really picture it and I started to feel…” Bitty breathes. “There were times I wanted it to just stop, and I’d think about ways I could make myself…stop.” He doesn’t like using the word suicidal. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, because it had been really, really bad for a short while. “She had a podcast, when they were just getting started on those. And I know she wasn’t like…a fix. But she was always talkin’ about mental health, and ways to stay strong when it felt like the world was crumblin’, and it was just a bandage, but it was enough of a bandage that it kept me from falling apart, or doin’ something I couldn’t take back, until I got to Samwell and saw a therapist there. So I…she’s important to me.”

“Oh,” is all Jack finally says, but a novel is written on his face—subtly but Bitty’s known Jack long enough, he’s learnt to read him.

“Please never tell her that.”

Jack looks surprised. “Why?”

“Because I…I know she was doing it to help kids like me, but it feels like an unfair weight to put on her.” Bitty licks his lips and clarifies. “I used to have this youtube channel—baking and hockey. It was…silly. But I got this comment from a person who told me that they were feeling suicidal, but they found my vlog and it got them through a tough weekend and saved their life. And I…panicked. I was happy that I could help someone like that, but the weight of it hit me hard. Like I was afraid I’d do something wrong and suddenly that person wouldn’t feel better anymore and it would be my fault.”

“I think,” Jack says slowly, and his hand comes up to brush along Bitty’s cheek, “she’s probably heard stories like yours hundreds of times, and I think she’d be happy to know.” Then Jack takes a breath and says, “But maybe it would be strange to tell her. Since we’re dating.”

For whatever reason, the joy in that simple statement, ‘since we’re dating’, hits Bitty like a freight train and he ducks his head and buries his face against Jack’s chest and isn’t really sure if he’s laughing or crying. But he gets pulled into another kiss, then another, then another until he’s dizzy with love and affection.

“If you want to tell her, I won’t mind,” Jack says after a moment. “But thank you for telling me.”

Bitty breathes out, and nestles against Jack. “Can I just stay like this forever?”

Jack rubs his hand up and down Bitty’s back. “Sure. I’ll quit hockey. Hand me my phone, I’ll text my GM.”

Bitty nibbles at Jack’s collarbone and he laughs and laughs and laughs.

*** 

And they carry on like that for a while.

They’re content. Jack is playing a lot, and Bitty has midterms and finals, and sometimes they don’t get their morning coffee dates, and sometimes weeks go by where they don’t do more than text or the occasional phone call.

The Falcs hit the playoffs right round the time Bitty has finals. Bitty passes, Jack does not. They’re knocked out of game six against the Bruins and Jack’s bummed enough he doesn’t call for a few days.

Bitty’s driving himself spare trying to think of ways he can cheer his boyfriend up, but how do you do that when something like the Stanley Cup is on the line. He thinks maybe Jack won’t want to see him anymore. He knows all about hockey superstitions and what if Jack gets it in his head that Bitty’s bad luck.

And he’s worried himself almost sick until he steps outside to throw out the rubbish when he sees a familiar man leant against the alley wall, one foot propped against the brick, arms folded, smirking.

“I was hoping to catch you alone,” Jack murmurs before crossing the distance between them in three large strides.

The rubbish bag falls by the wayside as Bitty’s crowded against the filthy door and kissed and kissed until he’s laughing and a little breathless.

“Lord,” he murmurs against Jack’s mouth. “Don’t you know it isn’t safe out here. A few months ago a man got mugged.”

“Mm, is that so?” Jack asks, grinning, nipping at Bitty’s jawline. “Sounds harrowing.”

“It would have been, if the guy hadn’t been a superhero. Vigilante,” he says as Jack chuckles and keeps kissing, moving down to Bitty’s neck. “But if he’s not here to save you, you shouldn’t be lurking.”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Jack says, pulling back to wink, cupping Bitty’s cheek. “I missed you.”

Bitty bites his lip, then blurts, “I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me. I wasn’t…I know it was a tough loss.”

Jack winces a little. “I’m still working on self-care after defeat. It’s been a struggle in therapy since I can remember,” he confesses. “But you make me feel better, and Sandy said if you make me feel better, there’s no sense in staying away.”

“What if I’m bad luck?” Bitty says, then hates himself a little because what if Jack starts to think it.

But really Jack just laughs and presses his lips to Bitty’s temple and says, “I don’t believe in something so impossible. You’ve made my life better already. I don’t care if I never win another championship again.”

For a second Bitty thinks maybe he’s chirping, except Jack looks so, incredibly, painfully sincere he can’t breathe for a second. “Take me home with you tonight,” is what he manages to say.

“I’ll be here at four,” Jack says, and the promise in his voice weighs heavy.

*** 

It happens like this…

Bitty knows there’s going to be more than just kissing tonight. Because he wants it. He’s been craving Jack’s hands, and his mouth, and his…everything. He wants to see all of Jack. He wants to get his clothes off and touch every inch of skin. He wants to see what Jack’s dick feels like, hard and weighty in his hand. He wants to know what Jack’s face does when he strokes him.

He wants all of it. He wants to feel his dick moving in Jack. He wants to feel Jack moving in him. Wants to put his mouth everywhere and anywhere. He’s been fantasising to the point his wrist aches because he has to touch himself whenever his head starts going that way.

The only real problem is, Bitty doesn’t fully understand the mechanics of it. His sex education was, don’t make love until you’re married. He practised with condoms a few times just to make sure he wouldn’t look like a complete idiot before hooking up with someone, but it never got that far.

And this was not hooking up.

He was shaking by the time they got to the bedroom, enough that Jack stops kissing his neck and pulls away. “We need to talk.”

Bitty blinks and fear hits him and he chokes out, “Oh. Okay.”

Then Jack shakes his head. “No I mean…you seem like you’re panicking and I think we should talk this out before we go any further.”

Bitty nods then, relaxing. He lets Jack drag him against his chest, nestled between the V of his legs. Jack is wearing boxers, but Bitty can feel him hard against his side. His dick throbs occasionally, and Bitty wants to abandon this talk and maybe just suck him…but he wouldn’t know what he was doing anyway. And Jack is right. They do need this moment.

“What have you done before?” Bitty blurts out.

Jack laughs. “You want a play by play?”

Bitty groans, hiding his face. “I just mean…you’re more experienced than I am.”

“I’ve had a couple partners,” Jack says. “I had a boyfriend when I first signed with the Falcs. We were together about fifteen months. And then I had a girlfriend after that, and we were together a year.”

“So not a huge list, but a lot of regular sex,” Bitty concludes.

“Yeah,” Jack says, with a smile in his voice Bitty can hear. “Before that I…there was my ex I had in the Q. We were kids. I think I made most of my sex mistakes with him. We didn’t know a lot. It was experimenting and fumbling. Not all of it good.”

“But not all of it bad?” Bitty chances.

Jack shakes his head. “Not all of it bad.”

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Jack sucks in his breath, then shifts and turns Bitty’s face up toward his. “I’m not…” He stops, and Bitty sighs.

“My friend Shitty used to give us these long lectures about how virginity is a social construct and everything and like…I get it, Jack. But I am a virgin. I’ve never…done anything and…”

“I think,” Jack says slowly, “that a lot of people have a lot of ridiculous ideas about what virginity is and what it means to lose it. My ex, Renee, he used to be so frustrated with the idea that a gay person only loses their virginity if sex with another mimics penetrative sex with a vagina.”

Bitty laughs at the way Jack’s words are sort of…text book and stilted, because it’s so him. He sighs. “You mean anal.”

“I mean anal,” Jack says. “If we are together and neither of us ever chooses to have penetrative sex, Bits…it doesn’t mean our sex is less. Virginity—losing it—is the moment you feel you’ve lost it.”

Bitty closes his eyes, then breathes, then pushes himself to his knees. He shimmies out of his boxers and presses himself against the expanse of Jack’s stomach and boldly asks, “Will you touch me?”

Jack is eager to comply. He has lube on the nightstand and he slicks up his palm, then grasps Bitty, his fingers in a tight circle. His other hand flies to Bitty’s hips, the tips of his fingers digging into Bitty’s side, urging him to thrust, and Bitty finds himself acting on instinct because at that moment he’s far too overwhelmed by the fact that he’s doing this—that Jack’s hand is on his dick—to think clearly.

His eyes roll back and he’s feeling the slide of himself in the cradle of Jack’s palm. “Shit,” he moans.

“Bits, Bitty,” Jack groans back, and he’s shifting, getting a little friction of his own against the side of Bitty’s thigh. “Yeah. Bits. Fuck my hand, come on.”

The filthy talk—which isn’t that filthy, he’s heard far worse in casual conversation at the hockey haus—is enough to send him careening over the edge. He shivers and shakes. The warmth in his belly floods to his limbs and he feels himself pulse, and spill. It’s not a lot. Just a small spurt of the clear-white semen which dribbles out of the tip and onto the side of Jack’s hand.

Bitty’s read porn, and seen it, and this was nothing like that. At all.

But somehow it was so fucking much better.

He stares down at Jack’s hand which is still holding him, though it’s still now. He sees the evidence of his first time brought to orgasm by someone else on Jack’s skin. He drops his forehead to Jack’s collarbone ad breathes.

“Was that what you wanted?” Jack asks.

Bitty nods. “I’m not a virgin anymore.”

Jack lifts Bitty’s face, a finger hooked under his chin, and he kisses him. “Thank you for loving me,” Jack murmurs.

Bitty flushes white hot, and deflects that moment of confession of love by grabbing Jack’s dick, and stroking him until he throws his head back, and comes.

*** 

They don’t really talk about it after that. They sleep, and Bitty cooks breakfast, and they’re a little subdued, but affectionate. They shower together, and go for a walk, and in the evening they curl up in front of Cupcake wars with the sound down, Jack reading and drawing his fingers along Bitty’s spine.

“Jack?” Bitty says.

Jack hums, then looked up. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

His face breaks out into a smile like the sunrise after the longest night. He cups Bitty’s chin, kisses him in a slow, steady rhythm. “I love you too.”

It’s enough, Bitty thinks.

Jack seems to agree.

*** 

“Tell me about anal,” Bitty asks the next time they’re in bed. They’re sweaty, and Bitty’s jaw is aching from trying to blow Jack. He wasn’t any good and he gave up in favour of letting Jack fuck his thighs, but he promises to practise and Jack is more than a willing participant in Bitty’s sex education.

They’ve both had their orgasms now though, and they’re lying with their heads at the foot of the bed, and there’s a pie in the oven that’s going to be ready in twenty minutes. Bitty turns on his stomach, and props his head up. His fingers toy with the soft hair against Jack’s chest.

“What about it?”

“Like how do you…” he starts, then shakes his head. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Jack says. “You can…there are ways to prepare so it doesn’t hurt as much.”

Bitty holds up two fingers and mimics a scissoring motion and imagines lube like in every gay fic he’s ever read.

Jack laughs, and shakes his head. “I mean…fingering is great. It’s…the prep you use when you’re twenty and you’ve never fucked an ass before, and you’re just figuring things out.”

Bitty sighs and flops over and wriggles until his head is pillowed on Jack’s soft, chubby thigh. “So what? I mean…I’m twenty one and I’ve never before.”

“But I’m not and I have and it’s…” Jack pauses, and lets his fingers drift into Bitty’s hair.

“What did you and Renee do?” Bitty asks, bravely and a little stupidly because he knows Jack and Renee didn’t have the best split and Jack doesn’t love talking about him.

But Jack answers without hesitation. “Dildos, plugs. A lot of lube. Condoms, enemas.”

Bitty lifts his head with his nose wrinkled. “Enema.”

Jack laughs. “Fucking isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always sexy, Bits. Only it is, in a way. It will be with you.”

“Even with the enema?” Bitty asks, huffing and flopping back down.

Jack laughs, and resumes stroking Bitty’s hair. “You’ll thank me if you take my advice. We can try it without, if you really want to.”

Bitty hums and considers it only because it almost feels like a rite of passage, having really terrible anal sex. He’s twenty-one for fuck’s sake. Isn’t he supposed to know what all that is like. Then he remembers Jack loves him and wants it to be good for him, and maybe that isn’t a bad thing. It’s not like he’s going to lose his queer-card if he skips the uglier, messier bits, right?

*** 

They do fuck that way. After a while.

Bitty fucks Jack first. Jack flushes himself out, then wears a plug all day round the house and he’s really turned on by it, and every time he groans, Bitty swears he’s going to blow his load all over. Jack sucks him once before dinner just to take the edge off, but declines when Bitty offers to reciprocate.

“I’m really sensitive,” Jack admits. “And I really enjoy it. Not all the time, but when we do it this way, I like to savour it.”

It’s weirdly filthy, in the best way. And Bitty is a shaking mess of nerves as Jack rolls the condom on Bitty and slicks him up, then rolls over, propped up on his knees, and spreads his legs.

Bitty has no idea how the mechanics of it work, but Jack’s loose from the plug he’s had in all day, and still pretty wet from it. All the same, it’s takes forever of gentle nudges, and Bitty trembling as he grabs Jack’s sides and pushes and pushes until he’s in.

Jack groans into the pillow, and gives a sharp fuck backward against Bitty’s dick that’s almost too much. And strangely it’s…not better than the other stuff they do. Jack’s fingers are more clever and more controlled, and his mouth is hotter and wetter and there’s tongue which drives Bitty nearly mad with pleasure.

But this is tight, and slick, and Jack’s thrusting against the pillow under him, and back against Bitty, and just the idea of it is hotter than the act, and Bitty really only lasts a minute or two.

Jack comes pretty quickly after that, just before Bitty pulls out.

It’s pretty messy, but less gross and Bitty thinks about the enema and that’s still not sexy, but he gets what Jack means. They shower together, the caressing hands against each other softer and more intimate than the fucking. They make out against the cold tiles, the water a little annoying as it mists in their faces, but Bitty’s so smitten, he doesn’t know how he ever existed anywhere that wasn’t inside of Jack’s strong embrace.

*** 

Bitty tries it a few months later, just before pre-season begins. Jack hands him the enema with the instructions, and he fucks it up and gets it all over the floor and it’s so mortifying he locks himself in the bedroom and buries his head so he can’t hear Jack’s laughter as he cleans it up.

Jack offers to help, but Bitty shoo’s him away and eventually manages it and it’s probably one of the most uncomfortable things he’s ever felt in his life. And he’s not even sure how to explain how his insides feel after.

But Jack’s waiting for him on the bed, and there’s a dildo since Bitty wasn’t really keen on the whole plug thing. And it’s small, but intimidating looking—a sort of soft, clear-blue silicone shaped like a dick except there are bumps and ridges.

Bitty lowers himself onto the bed, on his back, legs spread. Jack toys with him for a little bit, sucking the tip of his dick, tonguing his balls, pressing his thumb behind them to rub at his prostate from the outside which drives Bitty into a gasping frenzy, his hips stuttering, cock jutting into the air at nothing.

Then Jack puts lube on his hand and gently eases a finger inside. It’s...different. There’s nothing like the hot, overwhelming pleasure he’s read about, or seen guys beg for in porn. This is just…kind of an intrusion, and he sits up on his elbows a little so he can maybe see what it looks like.

“How is it?” Jack asks. He looks up carefully, meeting Bitty’s gaze, drawing an honesty out of Bitty that he hadn’t wanted to give.

“It feels like I have to take a huge shit,” he blurts.

Jack ducks his head and laughs, nodding, and though Bitty thinks that was probably gross enough he’ll pull away, Jack keeps fingering him until Bitty’s more relaxed around it. 

Then he finds Bitty’s prostate.

It also doesn’t feel the way he’s read about. His head doesn’t fall back in pleasure, his eyes don’t roll back in his head. It’s like a zinging sensation, almost like that build-up right before you sneeze, and it isn’t bad—it’s actually fucking great and he chases it with his moans, urging Jack on as Jack—who clearly knows what he’s doing—works Bitty up and up until he comes.

The orgasm is different, and he’s not sure if he likes it better or not, but he’s willing to try more. Luckily his refresh rate is appropriate for his age, because after a solid thirty minutes of making out, he feels his dick start to perk up again.

So Jack goes for the dildo.

Bitty gives up after the first slide in. It’s too much and it’s too uncomfortable and he hates it.

He buries his head in the pillow, his body flushing with shame because Jack had done it, and loved it, and why is he like this.

Jack soothes him, a gentle hand on his spine, kisses along every inch of exposed skin. “It’s okay. You don’t have to like it. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I wanted to,” Bitty admits. “I wanted…I wanted it to be like…” He doesn’t know how to finish that, because logically he knows everything he’s ever read or seen is sensationalised, or created by people who’ve never done it or experienced it. And it’s meant to be that way, because hell, watching two men on a porno give each other enemas, then cook mac and cheese wearing a butt-plug to loosen them up for five minutes of sex isn’t sexy.

And porn is supposed to be sexy.

Not realistic.

Still, it tends to take the fun out of what he used to read late at night when he was fantasising about the giant, jogging hockey player he wanted to share his bed with.

Then again…now he’s got Jack and everything else they do is really fucking amazing.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes a little while later.

Jack shakes his head, and nuzzles Bitty’s nose with his own, then slips down his body and puts Bitty’s dick in his mouth, and blows him until he comes all over Jack’s cheeks and chin.

Now that…

That is sexy.

*** 

They don’t try again. Bitty thinks about it every so often, but they’re happy, and Bitty isn’t a virgin anymore. And he doesn’t think he needs to get fucked by Jack a certain way to stamp that V-card or whatever the stupid saying is.

In mid- December, just as finals smack Bitty in the face, Bob and Alicia come to visit.

Bitty is all-but beside himself, baking up a storm and nearly working himself into an early grave until Jack corners his boyfriend against the fridge and kisses him calm. “They already love you. You don’t have to impress them.”

Which…obviously Jack doesn’t get it. Bitty’s about to meet his idol for like…everything. Acting, fashion, mental health awareness, an LGBT+ icon that kept his little queer heart pumping when it felt like the world was trying to crush it to dust.

He doesn’t say that, of course. He wants to be cool, and really part of this is impressing potential future in-laws. If they don’t like him, then maybe Jack will stop liking him, and all of this will be a memory and no…no he can’t stand the thought of that.

He has no idea how little he has to worry until Jack’s parents breeze through the door and hug Bitty like they’ve known him for years. Bob immediately starts taking over in the kitchen, pouring wine for everyone. Bitty’s a little star struck as he watches Alicia fuss over Jack about his hair which is, “Getting too long,” and whether or not, “you’re eating enough, mon petit coeur.”

Then she turns her stark blue eyes on Bitty and drags him over and fawns over his outfit, and the stylish way he’s parted his hair, and how every single thing he’s ever tweeted was the funniest thing she’s ever read.

“I’m so happy he found you,” she says quietly. “I’ve never seen him smile like this before.”

Bitty glances over at Jack and Bob who are at the counter preparing the latkes, and he smiles himself, shaking his head. “He’s everything I ever wanted.”

She smiles at him so bright he almost flinches, then she hugs him and kisses his temple and he thinks, ‘This is the woman who saved my life.’ He doesn’t say it. He still can’t burden her with that. But he can appreciate that a woman like that managed to raise a man as amazing as Jack, and he owes her the world for it. Literally.

He knows there’s nothing he can give her to show his gratitude, but the very least he can do is make sure her son feels loves and safe and cared for, and really, that’s not a chore at all.

He glances over and she’s smiling at him and he realises his emotions are probably written all over his face. He would be embarrassed except Jack looks over at him and is grinning sweetly and Bitty realises he doesn’t care who sees it. He’ll shout it from the rooftops if he has to.

He loves this man.

*** 

It finishes like this…

It’s New Year’s and Jack and Bitty have left the party at Bob and Alicia’s hotel. They’re back at Jack’s place, having jimmied open the roof door and they’re wrapped up in the down-filled duvet near the edge of the building. There’s fireworks still going off over the water, and Jack’s got Bitty tucked between his legs, and he’s holding him in a way like if he lets go, Bitty might fly off.

It’s just gone midnight, and they’ve shared so many kisses tonight Bitty’s lost count.

He sighs, and tilts his head back against Jack’s shoulder. “I’m excited to start the year with you, sweetpea.”

Jack blushes, the way he does every time when Bitty calls him that, and he pushes his nose into Bitty’s hair. “Me too, Bits. Tonight was great.” He pauses, and there’s weight to it so Bitty says nothing until Jack finds his courage to keep going. “My mother threatened to murder me if I didn’t propose to you.”

Bitty laughs. “Is that…was that a proposal?”

“Sort of?” Jack says, almost like a question. “I know it’s ridiculous, but my anxiety…” he pauses, breathes, then starts again. “I think I need to know that you’re going to say yes. Before I ask. And I always thought it was such an unfair question to spring on someone.”

Bitty laughs quietly. “Well first of all, honey, I’m going to say yes. You don’t even need to propose. We can just say, yeah, we want to get married.” He stops, then turns a little. “Unless you only want to because your parents…”

Jack quiets him with a kiss, which is a little annoying, but he smiles into it anyway. “My mother only made the threat because I told her three months ago I refused to live without you, and that I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure how you felt about it. She told me you think the sun rises and sets on me…the way I feel about you. I’m sorry my anxiety makes me messy with these things.”

Bitty sighs and snuggles in deeper. “You don’t have to apologise to me, baby. I love you exactly as you are. And of course I want to marry you. I also think surprise proposals are ridiculous and I’m…I’m glad we’re the way we are. It’s perfect.”

“For us,” Jack says.

Bitty falls quiet as the last of the fireworks light off in a massive explosion. There’s a small gust of wind, and he can smell ozone in it, and a little bit of smoke—sulphury in a way, and sharp, but it reminds him of Georgia fourth of Julys and being young and not nearly as afraid as when he got older. But nothing in the world has ever felt as safe as Jack’s arms do now.

And Jack hasn’t solved all of Bitty’s problems. The world is still a place that doesn’t always make the most sense.

But he can count on a few things.

Jack’s morning runs. PB&J smoothies. Cherry Pie. The way Jack’s eyes close when Bitty runs his hands up and down his sides. The way he can’t resist crowding Bitty into the fridge for kisses every time they meet in the kitchen. The way Jack’s smile makes his head spin like it’s the first time he’s seeing it, and how it feels like it’ll be that way every time.

Bitty lays his head back against Jack’s chest, and his hand falls over Jack’s left one. His fingers trace the puffy veins just under the skin along the top of his hand. They draw lines round his wrist, then his fingers come to a stop over the blank space on Jack’s left ring finger and he thinks what it’ll be like to see something there. Something just for Bitty. A physical reminder that it is—that it will be, forever.

Bitty can’t help a soft smile, and the feeling of overwhelming comfort as Jack’s warm breath brushes along his neck. He lets himself just…feel it. “Sweetheart, I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I know.” He grins, then laughs, then says, “Me too, Bits.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the conversation I had with my SO the other night when we got on the topic of how cisheteronormative it is that virginity is only lost when it comes to penetration, and how many fanfics we've seen or read where Character A is a virgin (no matter what sexual experience they've had) until they engage in penatrative sex.
> 
> My SO went on to tell me (hilarious--because he's a hilarious storyteller) what his first experiences in sex were like with his previous ex's (who were all cis men, so in this fic Bitty and Jack are both cis to reflect that experience). This is probably the least "sexy" explict zimbits fic out there. The sex is realistic, and awkward. My SO likes to lament about the unrealistic portrayal of mlm sex in fanfic, so this is basically dedicated to him, even if he's not in the check please fandom (mostly cos I don't write for any of his fandoms lol). So huge thanks to him for providing all the details.
> 
> This fic also has chubby!athlete Jack, because frankly I find it exhausting to read fic after fic where Jack is only chubby because he's not an athlete. There are plenty of chubby and fat atheletes. Body size is not an indication of health and or athleticism and those fics make me a little salty. Jack is allowed to be fat, and play hockey, and not be ashamed of his weight until skinny, hot Bitty makes him feel attractive.


End file.
